


Do Not Stand At My Grave And Cry

by celedan



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Immortal Ianto Jones, M/M, Murder, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 01:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14298222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celedan/pseuds/celedan
Summary: Without any memory of what happened, Jack suddenly resurrects in Ianto's bedroom, finding his lover brutally murdered. When the police turn up, they arrest Jack for Ianto's murder. While DI Swanson persistently interrogates Jack to proof that he murdered Ianto, Torchwood try to find out who the real killer is.





	Do Not Stand At My Grave And Cry

“Oh God!” Ianto cried out when Jack's cock struck his prostate full force the next time the younger man plunged down in his lap. At the vice-like tightness gripping him, Jack's fingers tightened on Ianto's hips, surely leaving bruises. He breathed in harshly through his mouth with difficulty at the vision that presented itself above him. Had he been a man with lesser stamina, he would have come alone from the sight of his lover writhing above him in ecstasy, riding him with abandon.

“Jack!” Ianto gasped pleadingly, and Jack complied with his begging by wrapping his trembling hand around Ianto's weeping cock. Ianto's breath hitched when his lover gripped him tightly, and started stroking firmly.

One last time, he cried out, then hot liquid erupted from his cock, coating Jack's chest.

The older man groaned as rhythmically clenching muscles milked his own orgasm from him, pouring himself hotly into Ianto.

Exhausted, he caught the trembling young man when he slumped forward, and drew him tightly into his arms, simply basking in the afterglow for a few minutes.

 

With a painful gasp, Jack jerked awake. Disorientated for a moment, he blinked in the relative darkness, the only source of light the shine of the street lamps falling through the window. He lay on the ground, a carpet underneath his bare skin which was somehow… wet. He frowned. He was in Ianto’s bedroom. But… he’d clearly been dead until just now. Why the Hell had he died in Ianto's bedroom? The sex couldn't have been that bad, he joked inwardly, slowly becoming a little hysterical. Confused, he rubbed his palms over the uncomfortable, sticky dampness on the carpet, and held them up to his face. In the dim light, his hands glistened blackly, and suddenly, he noticed the metallic stench of blood hitting his olfactory senses.

Ice cold panic like a bucket of ice water being poured over him gripped him. “Ianto?!” he gasped shakily, and tried to stand up on trembling legs. He slipped on the wetness drenching the carpet, but tried again. He heaved himself up onto the bed…

And stopped short.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, no… Ianto!” 

Jack scrambled up onto the bed, but didn’t dare touch the still body lying in blood-soaked sheets, empty, glassed-over eyes staring unseeing in the distance. But then, he snapped out of it, and he pulled Ianto into his arms, frantically checking for a pulse at his neck, his wrist, his chest, even checking his femoral artery just to make sure. Nothing.

An inhuman noise, part cry, part sob tore from his throat, and while rocking his lover's body in his arms, he pleaded with him to wake up in a frantic babble.

Suddenly, the door to the bedroom flew open with a crash. Armed police men streamed in, shouting something in a heavy Welsh accent while pointing their guns at him. Uncomprehendingly, he blinked at them a moment, then they dragged him away from Ianto's body, and that's when he started to put up a fight. They couldn't part him from Ianto!

But they were three, and much stronger than Jack. Unrelenting, they pushed him down onto the floor, and held him there.

“Get him some clothes,” one of the police men said, “but be careful of the evidence.” 

He was forced to dress hastily under the watchful eye of the police, then they cuffed him, and led him from the flat.

Shaking from shock, Jack sat in the back of the police car, staring ahead unseeingly.

 _I have to call the others_ , he thought numbly. _They have to take care of Ianto._

 

At the station, they pushed him into a sparsely furnished room where they took photos and evidence, a blood sample, a sample of the blood covering him, the blood from under his nails... And he let it all happen detachedly although he probably should make a mental note to not let his blood sample remain in the police's hands. Ianto would have remembered a detail like that.

Unbidden, tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn't react otherwise.

After allowing him to clean up a bit and dress again, they put him into a cell for the night.

 

They let him stew over night in the cells, but he didn't care. He'd lost his sense of time anyway. It could have been one hour or ten he was sitting here. It probably wouldn't be long now until they came and took him. They'd surely already done all kinds of investigations, hell bent on finding Jack guilty, he was sure. But even this he couldn't care about. And if they convicted him to a death sentence this country hadn't any more, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more.

Some time in the night, he thought he heard Gwen shouting. But he couldn't be sure. He wasn't sure of anything any more.

But when they indeed came to get him in the early hours of dawn, his team was waiting for him outside of the cell block.

“Jack!” Gwen cried, and rushed up to him to embrace him, but her former colleagues held her back. 

“Jack, what's happening here?” Tosh asked frantically. “They wouldn't let us through to you. What's going on!?”

“I don't know. Ianto... he...”

The devastated faces of his friends told him everything he needed to know. They already knew.

The constable behind him nudged him forwards.

“Don't you worry, Jack,” Owen called after him before he was out if their sight, “we'll sort this out.”

The last he saw before he was led around a corner was Owen's grimace as he realised what he'd said. There was nothing to sort out. Ianto was dead. Owen of all people should know the feeling. Not even revenge or getting answers was important at the moment. It would become important. It would become the only thing that would keep Jack going, but not now. Not yet.

The police had a different opinion regarding answers, and so they led him into an interrogation room where he already had company. Jack didn't know if it was a bad or good thing that he knew her. It probably didn't matter since every single officer in Cardiff hated him anyway. They'd have a field day convicting him. Probably had drawn straws on who would have the honour to bring him to fall.

“Captain Harkness,” Detective Inspector Kathy Swanson greeted him coolly.

He nodded at her mutely, and let himself be pushed into the chair opposite hers.

“Where's...” He had to swallow hard. “Where's Ianto? “

She flashed him a scathing look, but otherwise remained composed. “Where do you think a brutally murdered body is stored? In the morgue of course. The initial examinations of the body proofed to be very interesting so far. We’ll have a complete picture after the autopsy.”

“No! Please!” Jack cried in panic, almost jumping up from his chair again to round the table and shake her. “Please don’t do an autopsy.”

“Why? You afraid we find even more incriminating evidence?”

“No, but…” Agitated, he raked his hands through his hair. “Please, just don’t. Maybe we… Maybe Torchwood can do something. But for that, we need his body whole.”

She sneered at him in disgust. “Too late for that, you made sure of it.”

And with that, she took out a big stack of photos, spreading them out before Jack on the table.

He had to avert his eyes.

“For protocol,” Swanson began while never letting Jack out of her sight. “The suspect is Captain Jack Harkness, age unknown, leader of the organisation that is known as Torchwood. The murder victim is Ianto Jones, born August 19th 1983, member of the aforementioned Torchwood organisation.” She leaned forward in her chair, ignoring the photos for the moment, only letting them spread out as a reminder to Jack of why they were all here. “So, Captain Harkness, tell me about Ianto Jones. He was one of your people. What were his duties with Torchwood? I've never seen him with you at a crime scene.”

Jack flinched every time she used past tense, but he forced himself to answer her. “He's my archivist. And my General Support Officer. He keeps us all going, takes care of our needs.”

A gleam flashed in Swanson's eyes. “Okay, and pray tell, which of  _your_ needs did he take care of that aren't part of the job description?”

Jack flashed her an equally heated glare. He didn't like what she was implying. “Don't belittle him!”

She raised her hands in a mock-placating gesture. “I'm just asking. We found you in his bedroom after all in the middle of the night, none of you dressed. It all seems to me like this really awful cliché of the boss fucking his secretary.”

“It's not like that!” Jack snapped. 

“Oh,” she made in fake surprise. “You mean you don't have sexual relations with him?”

“I mean it's not just an office fling. Not any more.”

“But it was,” Swanson pounced, and Jack grimaced. 

“Yes. At the beginning.”

“What have your co-workers to say to that?”

“Nothing. There's no policy against relationships between colleagues.” 

Swanson snorted. “You would know, I imagine. Did you favour him?”

“No.”

“Was he Torchwood's archivist from the beginning? Or did that come later?”

“He's been my archivist from the beginning beside some other duties, but every additional tasks that I added to his original duties was because he was qualified to do them, not because of our relationship.”

She contemplated this for a while, then she nodded. “All right. We'll check that with the rest of your team.”

 

Gwen ground her teeth furiously, and Owen wanted to punch something. Or someone. Tosh had her lips pressed tightly together in frustration, and gripped her PDA so tightly her knuckles turned white. They all were bone-weary, but they had to go on.

After having been briefly questioned about Ianto, Jack, and the relationship the two had, the police had let them go. Since then, they desperately tried to gather more information. But what was more important, they tried to get Ianto's body back to take him to the safety of the Hub. Although under normal circumstances, the police had to cooperate with them, now, they blocked them since the victim was one of Torchwood's own. Jack was the main suspect, but they were all suspects as well, and therefore couldn't be trusted (not that the police normally trusted them).

They decided to try their luck with the coroner himself down in the morgue. Stealthily, they slipped past the police officers hurrying about and into the cell ar. Gwen shuddered as the familiar smells of the police morgue assaulted her senses at once. It was a smell she had happily tried to forget until now; the overpowering scent of bleach in the freezing cold, tiled cave of a room. She couldn't explain it, but the autopsy bay at the Hub didn't smell like this. Maybe Owen used better chemicals to get rid of the stench and blood, maybe some alien ones. But she suppressed her bodily shudder, and led the others to the coroner's office. 

She remembered him. A gruff, middle-aged man that could give Owen a run for his money in all things unfriendly. But nonetheless, Owen tried to argue with the man until they were eventually shouting at each other, their raised voices echoing through the corridors. 

The man wouldn't be swayed though, and suddenly, Andy appeared, probably having been sent down to investigate what all that noise here was about. 

Gruffly, the coroner nodded with satisfaction, and got back to work, simply turning his back on them without another word.

Owen and Tosh stood a little sideways as Gwen now fiercely argued and pleaded with Andy.

The blond man shook his head again. “I'm sorry, Gwen. I really can't help you.”

Gwen's persistent glare bored into him. “Jack didn't do it! He's been set up.”

Andy shrugged. “I don't know him well enough to be the judge of that, but what I believe is not important here anyway. That's for the DIs to find out.”

Stepping closer to Andy, Gwen tried to look at him pleadingly with puppy-dog eyes, but even that didn't seem to soften Andy's demeanour this time. “Andy,” she tried to reason. “Ianto was our friend. You have to understand, we only want to do him justice. Torchwood has more resources to find the killer.”

Andy shook his head for the final time. “I understand you, Gwen, really. But I can't help you. And now come on. You have to leave.”

Staring at her friend accusingly for a few moments longer, she huffed and rushed past him. “Let's get back to the Hub,” she snapped curtly. Tosh and Owen followed her without arguing.

Dejectedly, they climbed into the SUV to go back to the Hub, immediately starting to plot ways how they would get more information.

“We'll just hack into the police database as soon as they have the file uploaded,” Tosh shrugged.

Grimly, the other two nodded.

“But that leaves Ianto's body,” Owen pressed through gritted teeth. “Jack wouldn't want him to remain with the police.”

“Yeah,” Gwen agreed determinedly. “We'll bring him home. And if we have to break in there and get him.”

 

Jack gritted his teeth, slowly fed up with all the thinly veiled accusations Swanson made. They were at it for hours already, both becoming tired, but none wanting to back down.

“Listen,” he said. “I think you're operating under completely false assumptions here. You thought me guilty right from the start.”

“You were found with the body in your arms, yourself unharmed. Which conclusions should we draw otherwise?”

“What about innocent until proven guilty?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Very well. Please. Prove your innocence.”

He didn't like the mocking tone in her voice. It wasn't very professional, but this was probably the one chance for Cardiff's police to vent their frustration and disgust of him, clouding their judgement in the process.

“I'm a victim, too,” he tried to make her see. “We were attacked.”

“By whom? We didn't found any traces beside your own. No forced entry, no other fingerprints than yours and Mr. Jones'.”

“I don't know!”

She cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly. “You don't know who attacked you?”

“I don't remember.” 

“That's not helping your credibility...”

“I know, but it is like I said.”

Swanson shook hear head. “That's bullshit, Captain. You're always striding in on our crime scenes with that cocky attitude of yours, thinking you're better than us, but in the end it turns out  _you_ 're not better than those pathetic brutals who abuse or even kill their spouses, and now you're running in circles trying to prove your innocence, but let's make it plain: There wasn't any mysterious attacker. You killed Ianto Jones. It's that simple.”

“No! How? There wasn't any weapon, was there?” 

“Good that you bring this up.” Swanson shoved another photo over to him. “Recognise that?”

Jack's blood ran cold. “Where did you get this?!”

“We found it under the bed, your fingerprints all over and with Mr. Jones' blood on it.” 

“That's impossible,” he snapped while still staring shell-shocked at the photo of the blood-splattered Life Knife.

“So, you recognise this knife?”

He nodded numbly.

“I researched it, and a colleague recognised it as well. It was supposed to be the murder weapon in a serial killing some time ago, and you and your team took this case from us. We never found the murder weapon, neither did we find the killer. Obviously, you did, though. Or rather, since it was found in _your_ possession, are you responsible for those murders back then as well?”

“No. But we solved these killings. We put the knife in our store.”

“Where exactly? Where do you put such things?”

“It… it had been in my… in my private vault ever since because it's the most secure place we have.”

“Really!? In your _private_ vault. That’s interesting. And who has access to it?”

“The only people who know the access codes are… are Ianto and me.”

“And now, one of those two people is dead.”

She frowned at him. “Maybe he found out that you killed all those people back then? That why he had to die?”

“I didn't kill those people!” But he could have as well since Suzie had been his responsibility. “You're grasping at straws here. These killings have nothing to do with... We solved the case back then.”

“Oh yeah? Care to enlighten us for a change? Maybe you'd like to show us your base?”

“The murderer is dead. That's all you need to know.”

“Well, then everything is all right, I suppose,” Swanson mocked. “If it's so easy, then let's solve this case just as easily. Just confess.”

“I didn't kill Ianto! I told you, we were attacked. There was my blood all over the carpet as well, wasn't it!”

“Then why don’t you have even one scratch on you,” Detective Swanson asked accusingly. “Did you want us to buy this mysterious attacker story by pouring your blood into the mix as well?! Well, tough luck, you forgot to injure yourself to make it credible.”

Jack sighed desperately. “I… I heal fast…” he tried to explain without revealing too much, but even to his own ears, the explanation sounded weak and lame.

“Yeah, sure,” she scoffed. 

“It’s a Torchwood thing.”

With a loud bang, she threw the folder on the table, making Jack flinch involuntarily. “No, it’s not. Not any more. You will tell me now everything, Captain Harkness, and I don’t care if it’s classified!” She stood up, and towered menacingly over him. “This is a brutal murder, and I see nothing dodgy with it like you want us to believe. You killed your lover, simple as that. And not even you with your arrogant I'm-beyond-the-police attitude will get away with this. This is my case, and I will see that justice is done here. And when I have to lock you up for as long as you live, none of my colleagues will shed a tear over you.”

“I imagine,” he sneered, but he couldn't even hold it against them. Only now, Jack really realised how many enemies he'd made within the police. Hadn't he hired Gwen to improve Torchwood-police relations?

Swanson sneered back at him. “All right. If that's how you want to handle it, suit yourself. Then let's talk about some other injuries if you don't want to tell me about the absence of yours. Where do these bruises come from?” Swanson asked, and put some photos in front of Jack, tipping on the glossy surface with her forefinger. He didn't even have to look at them to know which bruises she meant. She didn't mean the fresh finger-shaped bruises at Ianto's hips and thighs. She meant the ugly widespread dark bruises covering his back as well as the bruised cheekbone.

“They're work-related,” Jack explained evasively. “We had a run in with... well, never mind.”

“Didn't you say Mr. Jones was your archivist and General Support Officer?”

Jack bristled. “Yes. But he's also a field agent of lately. We all are.”

“He was,” Swanson snapped, and Jack flinched. In his anger at her, he'd forgotten the devastating truth for a moment. She leaned back in her chair, and regarded him with contempt. “Do you know what I think? I think behind all your charming smiles, you tend to domestic violence. Wouldn't be such an unusual thing. And Mr. Jones strikes me as the calm, introverted, reserved kind. Maybe a little shy and uncertain. I think he loved you. And just to please you, he would never say anything if it gets a little rough. Is that what happened yesterday?”

“No!” Jack hissed. “I would never hurt him. Not even when...” 

“Yes?” Eagerly, Swanson leant forwards in her chair again.

“Even when I killed his girlfriend, and threatened to do the same to him.” But he couldn't say that out loud. Instead, he said lamely, “Even when we had our differences at work.” He grimaced since that only supplied her with more ammunition.

“Did that happen a lot?” Swanson promptly asked.

“No. Just once. The matter is settled.”

“Did you have sex with him yesterday?” She suddenly asked out of the blue. “We’ve found traces of semen in his rectum.”

“Of course we had sex,” Jack snapped. “We’re together.”

“Exclusively?” she drilled him further. “Everybody knows your reputation, Captain.”

“Of course exclusively. Do you think I would risk his health with unprotected sex otherwise?” Jack pressed his lips together bitterly. “I love him,” he admitted, and it ripped his heart in two that the first time he said it was to a police woman who interrogated him for Ianto’s murder instead of the man himself.

“Strange way of showing that. But come on, what was it? Did he find out you strayed after all? Did the argument get out of hand? Or did the sex? You wanted something twisted he didn’t? You have a reputation for things like that, too, Harkness.”

“I'd never do something he didn't want.”

“Oh, come on. A sophisticated, shy boy like Ianto Jones? We asked his neighbours; he was always the reserved, boring type, always polite. No way somebody like him was into kinky sex.”

“You'd be surprised,” Jack growled through gritted teeth.

“I'm sure. Corrupting the poor boy. From what the initial report says, the sex seems to have been a little rough. Is that correct?”

Jack bit his bottom lip. Uninvited flashes from last night snapped before his eyes like snatches from a camera. The both of them rolling around in bed, wrestling with each other despite Ianto's bruises, laughing without a care until Ianto came out on top, the rough, biting kisses, strong fingertips clawing deeply into flesh and skin – Jack had his own set of finger-shaped bruises, the only memento he had from Ianto physically, and even they would have healed by now, undermining his story that the sex had been mutual, and  _both_ parties had been pretty rough with each other.

“Yes,” he ground out. “It was a little rough.”

“How often?”

“Sometimes.”

She looked at him with a comprehending gleam in her eye, but she knew nothing. Ianto wasn't who he'd been any more. On the outside, he was still calm, polite, and reserved, yes, but on the inside, there was a fire burning inside of him, a furnace that more than once had burned Jack – and he'd let himself be burned gladly. He'd only helped to bring it out in the open... Now, that fire was snuffed out brutally. And it would never...

Therefore, he didn't answer her. It wouldn't do any good anyway.

 

Despite fiercely scheming plans, the team was stuck at some point despite all the resources they had. They still hadn't the file although it was late afternoon already. Surely the interrogation as well as the... as the autopsy were over by now. There had to be a file in the database already. Unless... unless Swanson suspected that they would try to hack into the database, feared tampering even, and therefore had created an old-fashioned handwritten file that had no connections to any electronic network or program whatsoever. They wouldn't put it past her. She was clever and always suspicious of them.

They were jittery with nerves, and could all have used a coffee. But in honour of Ianto, they didn't dare touch the coffee maker, their hidden instant stash, or go out to buy some to-go. There wouldn't be any coffee at the Hub at all until the first raw grief had dissipated.

Gwen flinched as her mobile rang suddenly. She peeked at the display, dreading that it could be Rhys. She didn't want to explain to him that Ianto was gone although she did want nothing more than curl up in his arms at the moment. To her surprise though, it was Andy. A flicker of hope bubbled up inside of her.

“Andy!” she cried happily as she took the call. Attentively, she listened, being watched carefully by her curious colleagues. Her eyes widened suddenly. “Yeah, okay, I'm with you in a sec.”

She practically threw down her mobile, and scrambled up from her chair, running to the cogwheel-door at high speed.

Curious and also vibrating with hope, they watched via CCTV as Gwen hurried outside onto the quay in front of the Tourist Office Centre. Where she was awaited by sergeant Andy Davidson.

“He's not so stupid as he looks,” Owen muttered appreciatively. 

Tosh poked him in the side, but had to agree with Owen. It had been clever of Andy to figure out that they had their base down here at Mermaid Quay.

With bated breath, they watched him hand Gwen a thin folder, the expression on his face highly uneasy.

“Gotcha!” Tosh breathed, involuntarily grabbing for Owen's hand. To her surprise, the doctor didn't say anything nasty but simply squeezed her hand.

Gwen hugged the uncomfortable Andy, then she returned inside. She waved the file triumphantly in her hand as she came back down, a bright grin lightening up her face.

Tosh and Owen scrambled up, and together, they hurried into the boardroom to huddle over the file together.

“Swanson really got her people to write it down by hand,” Gwen explained. “They thought she was nuts.”

“She's really clever, have to leave her that,” Owen grunted.

“Remind me to ask Jack to take Andy on if he loses his job for helping us,” Gwen mumbled, and opened the folder. Inside were copies of the protocols for their own short interrogations as well as the considerably longer one of Jack's, the report of the team that had arrested Jack at the crime scene as well as that of CSI. Finally, there was the autopsy report. Thankfully, the photos weren't so grisly since it were only black and white copies. But they shoved that aside for now. Instead, they divided the other reports among themselves to go over them. 

“Holy fuck!” Owen breathed eventually, only halfway through the CSI report. The two women looked wide-eyed at him. He held up one of the pages to them.

Their breaths caught.

“No!” Tosh whimpered.

“That's impossible!” Gwen blurted out, but none of them could deny that the police had found the murder weapon under the bed, and that it was the Life Knife. 

Owen jumped up, and ran from the room, hoping that Jack had been lazy and not changed the code for the private vaults since the disaster with Owen opening the Rift.

He hadn't. So, after a few minutes, Owen returned, his face deadly-white as if he'd seen a ghost. “It's gone,” he pressed out in helpless anger.

“Maybe Jack needed it for something,” Gwen mumbled. She flared up defensively at her colleagues' accusing stares. “Not for that, of course! But maybe there was a reason why he took it out. Or Ianto did.”

“Wouldn't explain though how it turned up under Ianto's bed,” Owen growled. “And I don't think they took it home with them for some bizarre sex-games.”

“That's sick, Owen,” Gwen admonished, and the doctor bristled.

“I'm trying to work things out here,” he spat. “Give me a better explanation then.”

Gwen's shoulders slumped. “I don't know. Somebody else must have taken the knife, but that's impossible, right? Nobody could have broken into the Hub without us noticing.”

“I'd like to think so,” Tosh growled since someone outwitting her systems was a personal affront to her. “But let's keep our heads on. What does the interrogation protocol say?”

 

For the next two hours, they went through all the reports forwards and backwards, even the autopsy report where they had to force themselves to stay completely detached, and not think about this body as Ianto's. But it was no use. No matter how many times they went over everything, they couldn't find any leads to the real killer. 

“We’re missing something,” Gwen sighed frustrated, leaning back in her chair, exhausted, and rubbed her tired, burning eyes. It was late in the evening already. She'd have to call Rhys, finally tell him what had happened, and make it clear to him that she wouldn't come home until they had caught Ianto's murderer. 

“No, we’re not,” Owen sighed.

Gwen and Tosh looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Do you wanna say that Jack actually killed Ianto?!”

Owen cringed. “No, but…”

“But what, Owen?!” Tosh snapped, and turned to Gwen again. “Let’s do this step by step again.”

Gwen nodded with a sigh, but they all pulled themselves together, and leaned over the file once more for the umpteenth time that night. She looked at the pictures again, and scanned the report even if it was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, no matter how often she had read it already. Her eyes teared up, dry and as if paralysed, but some of the blurry words called out to her somehow. “Why was he dressed?” she mumbled suddenly more to herself than to her colleagues.

“Come again?” Owen asked.

“I said,” she repeated louder, “why was Jack dressed? Here, the police report says that when they arrived, Jack was dressed in his underwear. Why? Ianto wasn’t.”

Owen snorted. “Because the police was pounding on the door?”

“Oh please, we’re talking Jack here,” Gwen snorted. “As if he would put on clothes for anybody, he wouldn’t care if everybody saw him naked.”

“And furthermore,” Tosh added, suddenly filled with new vigour, “nobody would think of preserving their dignity when they just found their partner brutally murdered next to them.”

“Hm, yeah, you have a point there.”

Gwen frowned suddenly. “Wait a minute. The transcription of the interrogation says ‘There was someone at the door’. He says that he remembers someone at the door earlier in the night.”

“What? Who?” Owen perked up. “How could we miss that part?!”

“We're all tired, and probably still in shock,” Gwen answered with a sympathetic smile. “Anyway, that would explain why he put on some clothes; To answer the door.”

“He says he can’t remember,” Tosh reminded.

“That’s dodgy. Why should he forget who’d been at the door in the middle of the night? You think they gave him something?” Owen looked from one woman to the other.

Gwen nodded. “Probably. But one thing’s for sure; those are the same people who killed Ianto. Why won't Swanson see what's right in front of her?”

“Because for that, she would have to know what we know,” Tosh stated. “For her, this is just a pitiful attempt from Jack's side to convince her of his innocence. If she knew what some creatures or some devices can do, leaving no trace whatsoever, she'd surely believe Jack. But since they didn't find any signs of a forced entry, plus that Jack was unhurt, they believe he is lying.” 

Owen snorted. “They want it to be him anyway, even if Swanson believed Jack's story about the mysterious intruder.”

Gwen made a protesting noise on the behalf of her former colleagues' integrity, but the other two ignored her.

“Then how can we prove that there was a third party?” Tosh indicated the photo showing the knife. “The police recognised it, know that we had it. How did it turn up in Ianto's flat?”

“The CCTV?” Gwen asked, but Tosh shook her head.

“There's nothing unusual last night or that before that, no intruders. The system would have alerted me.”

“And if you go farther back? Maybe they stole the knife some time ago.”

Tosh frowned. “Yeah, maybe. But I don't think something will turn up. I've programmed the CCTV to alert us of  _any_ intruder. For them to come undetected into the Hub to steal the knife from Jack's private vaults, they must have tampered with the cameras as well as the whole system.” At this suddenly very real prospect, she looked grim. And affronted. 

“They may be good, but surely, they can't be as good as you, Tosh.” Gwen looked at her challengingly, and met her determined gaze. 

She shook her head crisply.

“I'm on it.”

 

Tw o hours later, Tosh called them back into the boardroom.

“I found something,” she declared darkly, all of their tiredness gone with a new rush of adrenalin coursing through them.

Gwen nodded. “Me too, but you go first.”

Tosh nodded, and turned to the screen, her PDA in her hand, typing furiously on it. “At first, there wasn't anything strange when I started watching the CCTV feed the traditional way,” she explained. “But then I wrote a program to detect any anomalies. And when I mean anything... It would have reported Myfanwy farting if I hadn't put a filter over it.”

Owen snorted at the farting commentary, and Gwen raised an impressed eyebrow that Tosh had written such a complicated computer program in such a short time. But on the other hand, that was Tosh.

She continued undeterred. “I found this.”

Gwen and Owen watched a CCTV sequence of a normal day at the Hub that Tosh showed them.

“Don't see anything,” Owen shrugged.

Tosh made a humming noise, and changed a few settings. “Now look closer. There.”

And really, the other two Torchwood agents could make out a slight shimmer in the air in the middle of the Hub before it moved around. It looked like shimmering air right above a burning hot street in the summer.

“Fuck me!” Owen reared back in shock, and Gwen pressed her lips together in shocked anger. 

“This is the footage from last week. But I found some more scenes with this shimmering in the air.”

“Do you think it's a person?” Gwen asked, involuntarily looking around a little nervous. 

“Or an incorporeal being,” Tosh nodded. “But no matter what it is, it managed to get into the Hub without setting off the alarms. I took the whole system apart, but found no signs of tampering. That means it's not only invisible, but it can also remain undetected by any supervisory sensors.”

“Now the prize question,” Owen mumbled, “invisible gas-alien or an invisible person.”

“I tend to the person-theory. My guess is that they used some kind of device to stay hidden from us.”

“They used a... a...” Gwen fumbled for words. “God! I wish Ianto were here, he'd know what it was!” She bit her lip as she realised what she had said, and hung her head dejectedly. 

“It's kind of an invisibility cloak,” Owen stated confidently.

Tosh chuckled, bemused that Owen had obviously read Harry Potter, but nodded. “Or any other kind of camouflage device, yes, could be. I'll cross-reference the words _invisibility_ and _camouflage_ in the Archive's database.” She tapped away on her PDA lightning-fast.

“Here,” she smiled triumphantly. “We have one device at the Hub that fits these keywords.”

She pulled up a neatly scanned page, yellowed with age, written by typewriter. The date said 1927.

“Are these Jack's notes?” Gwen squinted at some writing along the margin.

The other two looked closer at well. 

“Yeah,” Owen decided. “That's his handwriting although the file is signed by someone else.”

“Maybe he got bored, and started nosing through the files, correcting them when he could,” Tosh shrugged.

“Or put lewd comments on them,” Gwen commented deadpan, and they all chuckled, amused. “What does it say?”

Tosh, who was – after Ianto – the most competent to decode Jack's hieroglyphs, squinted once again at the scrawled notes. The file identified the device as some kind of camouflage suit, but that was about it. “Apparently,” Tosh began, “Jack has encountered this model before because his notes identify this camouflage suit as a, and I quote, incredibly hot, top-of-the-range Yu-Ca grade from J'rizon 12, whatever that means.” 

Owen frowned, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well, okay. Now we know what it  _ could _ be the killer used. It can as well be some completely other model.” He shrugged. “Doesn't matter anyway.”

“It does,” Gwen objected. “If we can identify the model, maybe we can track down the buyer.”

“The black market for alien stuff is big, Gwen,” Owen snorted. “Would be one hell of a lucky coincidence if we could track down the device.”

Gwen bristled. “We have to try! Don't you think we owe it to Ianto!”

Owen lowered his eyes, chastened. “Yes,” he mumbled. 

“Can't be that many camouflage devices on the market that not only make the wearer invisible, but also undetectable to any scanners and alarm systems,” Tosh thought out loud. “I'm on it. But what have you got, Gwen?”

“Oh, yeah.” Gwen blinked. She'd almost forgotten her own findings in her excitement that they had finally found a useful trace. She accepted the PDA from Tosh, and pulled up another CCTV feed. It showed the street before the block of flats Ianto lived in. “I put the footage of the last three weeks through our face recognition program. It managed to identify all of the tenants as well as people that have normal dealings there like the postman or some kind of mechanic. I started checking all the people I couldn't match to the house. Weren't that many, and most of them, I could link with one of the tenants, visitors etc. But look here.” She zoomed in on the grainy image of a man going inside the house, and coming outside again a short while later. He looked left and right up and down the street, then he threw a suspicious look right at the CCTV camera on the other side of the street. 

“He's been out very quick,” Owen muttered, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I thought so myself. I tried to check him, but it's as if he doesn't exist. No sign of him in any database. And as if that wasn't suspicious enough already, I discovered this...” Gwen switched to another feed, this time to one that showed the house by night. 

Tosh and Owen squinted. 

“It's the same guy!” Tosh murmured, and watched the man come out of the house in the middle of the night in the dark. They could make out how he turned his head, apparently looking up to the camera again, and he mock-saluted. “How did he get in? Did he steal a key?”

“Probably,” Owen mumbled in agreement.

“Don't tell me this is...”

“Yes,” Gwen confirmed grimly. “This is from last night. He was inside the house shortly after the time of estimated death.”

“Bastard,” Tosh hissed. 

“And you say you haven't found any trace of him whatsoever?”

Gwen shook her head.

“Why haven't you told us before?”

“Because I hoped that maybe Tosh's findings would shed a bit more light on the killer's identity.” 

“Doesn't matter,” Tosh stated decidedly. “At least, we have the how and we have a face. The rest, I hope, is standard Torchwood work. You'll see. We'll have found this guy faster than he can blink.”

Gwen's face darkened in a frown. “What I fear though, the way he waved up at the CCTV, he wants to be found. He didn't even try to hide although he clearly knew that the camera was there.”

“I agree.” Tosh nodded. “But let's find him first. Then we can find out about his motives.”

 

They took turns tracing the mysterious man while the other two kipped on the couch and on the autopsy table for a few hours of much needed sleep.

Come morning, they had filtered through every hidden black market website for alien artefacts they knew, and indeed, one of the traders had offered a camouflage device that fit Tosh's criteria. In the early hours of dawn, Gwen and Owen left to pay this trader a little visit. Tosh stayed at the Hub to coordinate them via comms. 

Listening over her comms while at the same time watching the sparse CCTV around the inconspicuous office building where surprisingly a black market trader for alien artefacts had his firm, she growled and rolled her eyes at the man's petulant whine as he realised who his early visitors were. 

“Harkness and I have a deal,” he sneered, trying to get them to leave. “He leaves us in peace to run our business.”

“That may be,” Gwen said in a no-nonsense voice. “We're not interested in your rackets.” She ignored the man's indignant spluttering. “But this is something personal to Torchwood. Especially to Harkness.”

“You see,” Owen chimed in, “we're just looking for a specific guy that probably bought a very specific artefact from you.”

“And if so. As if I would just give you my list of costumers. I'm an honourable business man. My costumers can count on my discretion.”

“We're sure they can,” Owen replied cynically. “Nonetheless, we want to know if this guy bought this artefact from you. And if you don't help us, if Harkness gets wind of your reluctance to cooperate with us, he'll come here himself.”

Tosh couldn't see the man's face, but the long silence that greeted her from the other end of the comms told her all she had to know. 

“A-all right,” the trader answered, his voice wavering slightly in trepidation. “Which artefact 's that supposed to be?”

Cooperating beautifully with them, Gwen and Owen soon held the buyer's information in their hands.

“Serious?!” Owen snapped exasperated. “A fake name?”

“What's it?” Tosh hissed in their ear.

“Fred Flintstone?!” Gwen provided helpfully, probably glaring daggers at the trader. 

“What?!” he cried. “As if people use their real names here!”

Owen snorted. “So much for honourable business.”

“Do you know anything more about him?” Gwen asked irritated, leafing through some pages judging from the rustling Tosh could hear. “Age? Skin colour? Hair colour? How was he dressed? You know, things like that.”

“Phew, as if I can remember,” the man whined.

“It's been only a couple of days,” Gwen reminded helpfully. 

A groan could be heard. “Well... White. Rather tall. Brown hair. Maybe blond. His clothes were normal, I guess.”

“That's really helpful,” Owen drawled. 

“You don't have any CCTV in your office by any chance?” Gwen asked although they knew very well that there wasn't. If there was, Tosh would have already hacked inside, but maybe, he used something alien that wasn't traceable.

“No,” the man snorted. 

The two Torchwood agents sighed softly in disappointment, Tosh doing likewise in the Hub. 

“But he made another deal with me,” the trader suddenly added. 

“And?” Owen asked on edge. 

“He wanted a complete wipe-out of his identity from all records. I'm the only one who has the needed device for this.” He sounded kinda smug; Tosh itched to tell him that she could do the same in under five minutes. “That help you any?”

Silence. Gwen and Owen probably looked at each other exasperated.

“Yeah, kinda,” Owen drawled impassively. 

“Tosh, you heard that?” Gwen asked into her comms at the same time.

“Yeah,” Tosh growled. “I'll find him, don't worry.”

“We're coming back now.”

Tosh nodded grimly, not listening in any further into the rest of the conversation, and instead started to unearth the erased identity of their suspect. It was easy if you just knew where to look although a little time consuming. All in all,  _ if _ you really knew where to look, the traces such an erasure of identity left behind weren't very subtle. It was as if the bastard left them discreet hints all over the internet, so as if he wanted to be found. The whole thing screamed trap, but they didn't have a choice. If they wanted to catch Ianto's murderer, they would have to push through. Her colleagues agreed with her on that when she told them. This guy was much too clever, and had put too much planning into his scheme so that he surely wouldn't make a grave mistake such like this and leave a trace. The only explanation was that he really wanted to be found. But why? Did he want revenge for something? It looked like it, but they could only tell for sure after they had identified him.

Tosh bend over her computer with renewed determination.

 

By the time Gwen and Owen returned, Tosh had restored the extinguished data almost completely.

“Bernard Matthews?” Owen frowned. “Never heard of him. So, why did he erase his identity if he wanted to be found anyway?”

“No idea.” Gwen shrugged darkly. “Seems to me like one big perfidious scheme.”

“Yes, he's playing with us,” Tosh agreed. “Like a cat with the mice.” 

“Okay, who is he?” Owen perched on the edge of Tosh's desk. 

“43, widower. His wife and child died a couple of weeks ago at a car accident. Before that, he lived separate from them. Last known job was in an IT-company. He seemed pretty well-versed at his job. But after he lost his family, he quit, and isolated himself. I couldn't find any socialising any more. Nothing on facebook or Twitter for weeks now. It's as if he disappeared.”

“And now he has,” Gwen growled. 

“Yes.” Tosh nodded.

“But what is his connection to Torchwood?” Owen frowned, staring hard at the picture of the ordinary looking bloke. 

“I don't know,” Tosh had to admit through gritted teeth.

“What about his wife and child?” Gwen suggested. “If he targets Torchwood, especially Jack, don't you think we are...” She swallowed uneasily. “That it was somehow our fault that they died? Could they have been collateral damage?”

Tosh nodded, and immediately tried to find out more about the wife and the child.

“But how did he find out who we are?” Gwen thought out loud.

Owen snorted. “We're not really a dark horse around here, right. I'd rather say Torchwood is one of the best-known secrets in Cardiff even if nobody really knows what we do exactly.”

Gwen joined in his snort. “Maybe we should stop driving around with 'Torchwood' plastered all over the SUV.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh shit!” Tosh's shocked exclamation stopped the bantering of her colleagues, and they hurriedly focussed on her again.

“What is it, Tosh?”

Wide-eyed, she stared up at Gwen. “His family wasn't collateral damage.” She pointed to her screen. “Linda Phillips. It's her maiden name. She took it on again after they separated. That's why I didn't make the connection immediately.”

“Oh fuck!” – “Holy gosh!” Owen and Gwen cried at the same time.

They all remembered this case. It had been a few weeks ago. A dead baby Weevil had actually led them to Linda Phillips and her daughter Emily. Rather by chance, they discovered that apart from the dead Weevil in the backyard of the woman's house, that there had been other mysterious killings. Animals disappearing, and some of them turning up again a while later horribly mauled, just like the Weevil. That had piqued the team's interest. If something was strong enough to kill a Weevil, even a small one... Further investigations brought more and more dead pets to light. As well as a dead child in the neighbourhood, and now a missing one. 

In the end, it had turned out that the woman was a carnivorous alien that was busily teaching her kid to hunt. The team had found the missing child in Linda Phillips' cellar, already dead. Half eaten. There hadn't been another choice, they had had to shoot both the woman and the child. She had lunged to attack them, hurting Tosh who had only got away with a simple flesh wound because Jack had pushed her aside, taking the brunt of the attack himself. By Linda's attitude, it had been clear that she wouldn't stop killing. And they couldn't send her back where she had come from. 

Afterwards, Ianto had arranged for their corpses to be found in their burned out car that had crashed against a tree. 

No matter how, Bernard Matthews had learned the truth about his family's death and who was responsible for it. Had he known that his wife had been an alien, and therefore his daughter, too? Had that knowledge brought him on Torchwood's trace and into contact with the alien black market? Or had he simply combed through the internet desperately, using his skills as an IT-expert? Looking for some shady people who would help him, no questions asked? Either way, he must have spied on the team for some time now, carefully putting together the team's dynamics, and had finally found ways to take revenge. He probably wanted to take revenge on Jack specifically maybe because he was the one whose name would appear in some police files Matthews combed through, or whom people would remember because of his eccentric clothing. And he had. Matthews had hit Jack where it hurt him the most. Sure, they agreed that Jack would be heartbroken about any of their deaths. But Ianto...

But maybe, Ianto had only been the start. Maybe right now, Matthews was plotting the demise of the rest of the team... 

They had to confront him as quickly as they could.

 

With grim determination, Gwen and Owen went to the last known address they had of Matthews while Tosh wanted to visit with Jack. He was all alone there in the police holding cells, desperate, and without knowing what was going on. After all, it had been over twenty-four hours now since they had seen Jack last. He needed to know which progress they had made, plus he could surely use some comforting words. And actually, Tosh thought as she parked her car before the police station, she was glad that it was her coming here and not Gwen with her often overwhelming if well-meaning attitude. Tosh's more sedate nature was probably what was best for Jack right now instead of the bull in the china shop. 

Confidently, she strode into the building, asking politely (not demanding, at least not yet) to visit with Jack Harkness. After Swanson had turned up when she'd been informed of Tosh's request, the DI had given Tosh her permission albeit with a sneer.

Tosh wanted to cry as she was ushered into an interrogation room where they had brought Jack. He looked like Hell, his skin pale and waxy, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes dull. No. Dead. He didn't even look up, only reacted when she, despite Swanson's pointed throat-clearing, leaned over, and put her hand on his arm. He flinched, and looked up at Tosh with red-rimmed eyes.

“My girl,” he croaked, and tried to smile at her wanly.

“Hey.” A lump closed up her throat, and she had to bite back her tears, but she returned his smile with false cheer. 

“Are you all right?” he asked, and she wanted to protest. It was him that was held here in these cells, not her, although she of all people could understand perfectly how he felt – that is, if he even cared about his fate. Well, she just had to make him care again. 

“I'm fine,” she assured. “Owen and Gwen, too.”

“Good, good,” he mumbled listlessly, lowering his gaze again.

Ignoring Swanson for the moment, Tosh leaned over conspiratorially. “I have to tell you something.”

He looked up again, something like hope shining in his eyes. “Have you brought Ianto home?”

Tosh cringed, and swallowed heavily. “We will,” she assured. “But listen. We found him. The bastard who did this.”

“You did?” Jack didn't sound very interested at first, only dejected.

“Yes.” Tosh nodded eagerly, squeezing his arm over the table. She told him everything they had learned so far, and with every word she said, the dull look in Jack's eyes vanished, making way for determination. At the end, he had soaked up every scrap of information Tosh had given him, and she could clearly see that he, now that he had a specific person to blame, was ready to jump up and strangle Matthews with his bare hands. Well, it wouldn't come to that, though. The team had decided to take care of the issue while Jack was still imprisoned. He had tried to protect them all for so long, had been forced to do so many horrible things he later blamed himself for. Now, it was time they saved him. Revenge would surely make him feel better for a while, but they didn't want him to have even more blood on his hands. Jack was a good person, even if he himself didn't believe it most of the time. They wanted to preserve what was left of this good man if they could help it.

So, instead of reacting to his demands that they get him out of here now, Tosh stood up, rounded the table, and hugged him tightly to her chest. She felt him shudder with emotion in her arms. Pressing a kiss onto his brow, she smiled at him for one last time, and then left the room.

Swanson followed her, and Tosh turned around to the DI as soon as the door had closed behind them.

“You heard what I told him.”

Swanson snorted. “And I'm supposed to believe that? That you miraculously have come up with the 'real' killer.” She raised her head haughtily. “It's a sham to get your boss free, and me to drop charges.”

“No, it isn't,” Tosh insisted calmly. “It is the truth. And I believe deep down inside you know that he is innocent as well.” Tosh looked imploringly at the other woman. “You are a good and honourable policewoman, Detective Swanson. Please don't let your resentment of Torchwood cloud your judgement.”

Swanson evaded Tosh's calm, pleading gaze, biting her lip uneasily. For a while, she pondered what Tosh had said, then she looked at her again. She nodded curtly.

“You're right.” With a last uproar of stubbornness, Swanson glared at Tosh. “But what about this crap of a camouflage suit or whatever you told him? Do you think I believe this?”

Tosh pressed her lips together.

Swanson stemmed her hands inside her hips. “Listen very carefully, Miss Sato. You're right, maybe my gut tells me that Harkness is innocent, but if you want me to help you, then I want an explanation asap. Otherwise, I will let him rot inside these cells.”

Coming to a decision, Tosh looked the other woman firmly in the eye. “Can we go somewhere quiet?”

Giving Tosh one last sceptical gaze, Swanson nodded, and led her into the cafeteria where they sat in the farthest corner of the mostly deserted room. 

And then, Tosh told her everything (at least, as much as Swanson needed to know to believe her).

After some time, Tosh finished her story, closely watching Swanson.

The DI stared ahead of herself unseeingly, then, she sagged back in her chair. “I see,” she mumbled quite numb. 

Tosh blinked, surprised. “You believe me?!”

“It explains a lot of things.” Swanson shrugged.

Eagerly, Tosh leaned forward. “Then you will release Jack?”

Swanson crossed her arms before her chest. “All right. I'll try my utmost to get him free, but then, you have to help me. I can only imagine how you  _ deal _ with suspects, but for this, it has to go the legal way, got it? I want this suspect here in my cells, and I want proof, even better, a confession.”

Nodding, Tosh jumped up from her chair. “My colleagues are on their way to him.”

As if on cue, Tosh's comms beeped. 

“Tosh?” Gwen's voice sounded.

“Yes, I'm here.”

“We've got him. Put up a fight, so we bring him into the Hub now.”

“All right. I'm on my way. And guys?” She looked firmly at Swanson. “I'm bringing Detective Swanson.”

Ignoring Owen's spluttering, and Gwen's pensive silence, Tosh cut the connection.

Swanson returned her determined gaze amused. “You really wanna take me into your ultra secret base?”

“Yes,” Tosh said deliberately. “I want you to see.”

“All right. Then let's go.”

The two women left the cafeteria, getting into Tosh's car to get to the Hub.

 

Although she tried to look impassive and cool, the widening of Swanson's eyes told Tosh how awed she was by what she saw. But without stopping even once to marvel at this or that (fortunately, Myfanwy sulked in her nest because Ianto hadn't fed her yet since yesterday; an extinct primeval creature would have been a bit much at the moment and little too distracting), she followed the other woman through the Hub, and down into the cell level. Next to a grumbling Weevil, Owen and Gwen had put Matthews in a cell who was raving about wanting to see Jack immediately. They stood before the glass door of the cell, staring at him impassively. 

“I won't ask what this thing over there is,” Swanson muttered as she stepped into the corridor with Tosh, passing the Weevil.

“Where is Harkness!?” Matthews growled again, banging his fists against the glass. “I want to see him.”

“You don't get to speak to him,” Owen sneered. “You're dealing with us now.”

“I get the feeling that he put up a fight so that we were forced to bring him here,” Gwen muttered. “The whole time, he's only on about wanting to see Jack.”

“Why do you want to see him?” Tosh asked. “We're Torchwood too.”  _ And therefore, equally at fault for the death of your family _ , but she didn't say that out loud.

Matthews pressed close against the glass, his eyes flashing like a madman's. “I want him to look the man in the eye whose life he has destroyed. And who has destroyed his in turn now. I want to see the look on his face when I tell him how I killed his lover, and laugh in his face for it.”

The others trembled with rage, but pulled themselves together with difficulty. 

“You killed him, too,” Gwen reminded through clenched teeth. 

“Oh, I knew he couldn't die,” Matthews spat haughtily. “I learned a lot of interesting things.”

“While you trod around the Hub in your camouflage suit,” Owen finished for him, sneering.

A nasty grin spread over Matthews' face. “Exactly. I heard you talking about him dying. I couldn't believe it at first, so, I was prepared to take the chance when I slit his throat that night. But he's obviously fine.” His gaze flitted from one to the other, finally landing on Swanson who was content for now to closely watch the exchange. “You're not Torchwood. Who are yo... ah.” He'd spied Swanson's badge. “Police.” He cackled with glee. “That's even better! You've arrested him for murdering his lover!”

“Shut up!” Gwen snapped. “You have your revenge now, but your game is over.”

“Never,” he hissed. “I'll only stop when all of you are dead. I want you to suffer like my wife and daughter suffered.”

“Snap out of it, mate!” Owen exploded, exasperated. “They weren't some innocent model mummy and her nice little girl. They were aliens that were on a killing spree. We have two dead children, one right out of your wife's cellar, to proof for it. And a whole lot of mangled animal cadavers.”

“You lie!” Matthews screeched, throwing himself bodily against the glass once more. “That's ridiculous! You just wanna cover up your mistakes! They weren't dangerous!”

“They were,” Tosh snapped. “I still have the scar to proof it where your wife attacked me.”

“They were aliens, Bernard,” Gwen tried to get it through to him. “Not all aliens are evil, yes, but your wife killed children and pets. Only to show your daughter how to do it. How many children should have died after these first two?!”

“Even when they were aliens, I don't care! They were my family. You had no right to kill them!”

Gwen shook her head sadly as he didn't want to see reason. “Believe me, if we had another choice, we would have done it differently.”

“You could have!” Matthews screamed. “You could have! They were my family!”

Gwen couldn't stand the man's pain any more. She could relate to him. The memories of Rhys' blood-splattered body in exactly this corridor, just behind her, surfaced all of a sudden as if they were fresh. But she had been lucky. She had got Rhys back. Matthews wouldn't get his family back. 

No. Gwen sniffed, and straightened up. Rhys had been innocent. Linda and even Emily weren't, no matter how much Matthews loved them.

Turning around, she fled upstairs. There was nothing any more that she had to say to Matthews. She heard the others follow since they were obviously of the same opinion.

“Were they really?” Swanson asked softly, leaning wearily against one of the workstations. “Evil, I mean.”

“Yes,” Owen answered firmly. “They wouldn't have stopped.” 

“I remember this child,” Swanson mumbled, shuddering at the image of the horribly mauled little body. The other body she hadn't even seen, angry at the time for Torchwood once again turning up and taking the case from her. 

Tosh shrugged. “She attacked us. I'm only alive because Jack got between us.”

Nodding, Swanson rubbed her tired eyes. “I believe you. But I have to take him with me if you want Harkness back. I need him to confess in an interrogation room at the station, and I need to put him away in a holding cell.”

“Strictly to rule, yes,” Gwen sighed. 

Swanson shrugged. “That's the only way. He'll probably be declared insane anyway depending on what he'll say about aliens and camouflage suits. And you... But if we have a confession that he killed Ianto Jones, it won't matter how insane he is. Harkness will get free for it.”

Questioningly, Gwen looked at Owen and Tosh who both nodded. “Okay. I'll help you get him to the station.”

The two women left for the cells again, leaving Tosh and Owen behind uneasily. 

“And now?” Tosh voiced her thoughts. “We'll get Jack back, but...”

Owen shrugged, pointedly trying to look as if he didn't care. “This is Torchwood, Tosh. People die all the time. We'll have to live with it. Doesn't make the difference if it's the boss' boyfriend this time.”

Nodding dejectedly, Tosh sighed, and slumped down on her office chair, knowing that Owen was right.

 

Gwen returned again shortly after she had left with Swanson and Matthews. Her expression was slightly sour since she'd hoped to take Jack with her, but Swanson had insisted that they followed regulations. After she had taken Matthews' confession, she would release Jack, and bring him back to the Hub (the two women had agreed that he had to be watched closely so that he wouldn't immediately take off to look for the killer on his own since they had no intention of telling him where Matthews was at the moment). 

Listless, the team cluttered uselessly around the Hub for the rest of the day, not really speaking to each other, and no-one in the mood for any food although it had been ages since they'd last eaten. Or slept. They could as well have gone home for their lack of productivity, but they wanted to be there when Swanson brought Jack back, hopefully still today. 

Early evening, the Hub's security system announced a presence upstairs on the quay before the Tourist Centre. On the CCTV, they saw Swanson coming up to the door, Jack in tow, as well as Andy Davidson with... with a stretcher, a body bag strapped to it. Jack was doing his utmost not to look at the stretcher, but at the same time, he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to unzip it, and take Ianto's cold hand in his, never to let it go again.

Gwen and Owen let them in, and Owen took over the stretcher from Andy. They would have let Andy come down, would have let him in on their secret, but he declined. 

“I want to still have some illusions left,” he shrugged apologetically, and with a brief smile in Gwen's direction, he left before Gwen could thank him for his help. 

But Swanson had obviously decided to come down with them again (under the pretence of escorting Jack safely down lest he bolted).

When she set foot into the Hub for the second time, she obviously took more time to look around more closely. They let her look to her heart's content, she wasn't important at the moment. The most important thing right now was bringing Ianto home, and making sure Jack was... well, not alright considering the circumstances, but at least would finally get the chance to mourn in peace. Only after that could they take care of their guest.

They took the body bag down into the autopsy bay, and gently, Owen opened it, the noise of the zipper being pulled apart horribly, ominously loud in the otherwise deadly silent room.

They all gasped in shock when Ianto's still, sickly pale body was revealed. The blood had been washed away so that it would have looked as if he were only sleeping if it weren't for the shredded wounds the knife had torn into his upper body, the dark red bruises covering his face and torso, as well as the equally as horrible Y-cut stitched closed roughly with black suture. 

When Jack saw the body for the first time, especially the damage that had been done, and had to see that the police had done an autopsy, a horrible noise ripped from his throat like a wounded animal. His whole body started trembling all over as he stared at his lover's mutilated body, and he would have simply collapsed beside the autopsy table when Owen hadn't pulled over a stool onto which he steered Jack gently while he himself raved and ranted about the pathologist's butchering which he couldn't reverse now any more though. 

Jack had only eyes for Ianto, his surroundings completely forgotten. Bitter tears streamed down his face, and he reached out with a shaking hand to lovingly caress Ianto's cold cheek as if trying, simply with a loving touch, to at least brush away the ugly bruises that would now blemish Ianto's face for all eternity. 

Awkward silence settled over the team as they helplessly watched Jack grieve, and only now did they themselves find the time to mourn properly as well. 

“Would... would you give me a moment...” Jack's voice was hoarse and barely discernible, his emotions closing up his throat.

The others had heard though, and nodded mutely, leaving the autopsy bay dejectedly.

 

Gwen was the one to force herself out of her grief to tend to their guest who, up until now, had been completely calm. 

“Do you wanna some cof...” Gwen abruptly aborted her sentence, biting her lip. “Tea. Do you want some tea?”

Swanson nodded mutely, and followed Owen and Tosh into the boardroom while Gwen made the tea.

“It's incredible,” she said eventually, a hot cup of tea cradled between her hands after the team had told her a little more than Tosh already had. She shook her head with a rueful chuckle. “No wonder you snatched our cases from us. We'd never have been able to deal with threats like that.”

“I'm sorry,” Gwen shrugged. “We made a lot of enemies within the police like that. Maybe it would have been better to at least keep some people informed about what we do.”

Swanson shook her head. “No, it's better that way. Humanity is not ready for knowledge like this.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Yeah.” Swanson took a thoughtful sip of tea. “I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”

The team winced as they were abruptly reminded of the devastating fact that they had lost Ianto. 

“It's just... One feels so helpless. Maybe we could have prevented Ianto's death.”

“There wasn't anything we could have done, Gwen,” Owen objected sharply.

Gwen shook her head in denial. “We should have tracked Matthews down after...”

“And then what!? Knock on his door, and then, 'Sorry to bother you, but we just killed your ex and your daughter, and oh by the way, they were aliens'?!” 

“We should have tried to help him,” Gwen insisted stubbornly. “Help him deal with his grief.”

“No,” Tosh agreed with Owen. “That's not our task. Feigning the accident was the kindest thing we could have done short of retconning him. It's... unfortunate that he was so persistent, and started digging deeper.”

“Nonetheless, I feel sorry for him despite everything.” She turned to Swanson. “What will happen with him?”

“I think he will be committed to the psychiatric ward considering what he revealed during his confession.”

“Even though it is the complete truth, he's mad nonetheless,” Owen shrugged. 

“Maybe we should retcon him after all,” Gwen mumbled.

“What's Retcon?”

While Gwen went to explain Retcon to Swanson, Tosh and Owen looked at each other with unreadable expressions on their faces, thinking the same thing; that Bernard Matthews would never be committed to a psychiatric ward, or retconned. Instead, in a few day's time, when Matthews had been officially confirmed as the murderer of Ianto Jones, and Jack had been legally exonerated, they knew that one morning, Matthews would be found dead in his cell, having strangled himself with a sheet, probably out of grief for his family. It was all about protecting Jack now before he could get his hands on Matthews himself. It was the only thing they could still do for him, making sure his hands stayed clean from blood. Gwen wouldn't understand. Jack hadn't saved her like he had Owen and Tosh, so they kept their shared thoughts to themselves to bide their time. 

 

Jack sat with Ianto for hours, not moving a muscle, and not turning his eyes from Ianto's face for even one second the whole time. He didn't even flinch when Owen eventually came down into the autopsy bay, laying a gentle hand on Jack's shoulder. 

The doctor sighed heavily. “I have to take him into the cryo chambers now,” he whispered sadly. 

Jack's whole body stiffened at hearing Owen's ominous words. This, finally, prompted a reaction from him for the first time in many hours. He felt as if all blood drained from him, leaving him a cold and empty shell. He couldn't... No, he  _ mustn't _ lose Ianto again. Taking him into the cryo chambers would mean saying goodbye for good. It was too soon! They hadn't had enough time with each other!

Suddenly bolting like a spooked horse, Jack snapped out of his trance and jumped up, reluctantly letting go of Ianto's hand. 

He turned fierce eyes on Owen who almost took a surprised step backwards.

“No,” Jack said firmly, shaking his head emphatically. “Don't touch him.” He stormed past Owen and up the stairs. “Wait until I come back!”

Dumbfounded, Owen stared after Jack.

Suddenly, the others came to a slithering halt on the walkway overlooking the autopsy bay.

“What's going on?!” Tosh asked wide-eyed. “Where did he storm off to?”

“Don't know,” Owen shook his head. 

“Do you believe he is after Matthews?” Gwen asked, exchanging a look with Swanson who prepared herself to call her colleagues to forewarn them about the Captain's arrival. 

But Owen shook his head. “He only freaked out when I told him I had to take Ianto into the cryo chambers.”

The team threw each other wary glances, a sense of foreboding settling heavily in their stomachs.

“Maybe we should track him down,” Gwen suggested. “Stop him from doing something stupid.”

“No. Let him be. As long as he isn't after Matthews, what's the stupidest thing he could do?”

Gwen grunted drily at that, and Tosh raised a sceptical eyebrow, but they both nodded in mute acceptance.

 

It wasn't long before Jack returned, maybe after only an hour. Wide-eyed and suspicious, the team watched him storm back into the Hub in the direction of the autopsy bay, looking dishevelled, with his clothes torn and bloody in some places. He cradled something against his chest like a treasure.

His co-workers reared back in shock when they realised what exactly Jack was carrying.

“No, Jack!” Gwen cried, scrambling down the stairs to block Jack's path, the others standing at the top of the stairs, undecided. “You can’t. If it works at all, what if the connection won’t snap and he drains you of all of your energy like Suzie did with me!?”

“Then, by all means, let him,” Jack said through gritted teeth, coming to a stop before Gwen, glaring at her threateningly while pulling on the glove. “Let him take all my energy. Let him drain me until he’s whole again. I don’t care what happens to me. Worst case, I’ll die because of the energy loss. And either I wake up again… or I don’t. But his well-being is the most important thing here.”

The two stared at each other, both of them not wanting to step down, but in the end, they all knew that Jack would be the one getting his will.

Pressing her lips together in displeasure, but not saying anything, Gwen stepped back from the autopsy table, and let Jack through with the glove.

Shakily, he drew a deep breath, and gently put the glove to Ianto's head. He closed his eyes, tuning out everything around him, and only concentrated on Ianto. He  _had_ to reach him. If he failed... If he lost Ianto for good...

He plunged through the horrible darkness, mentally calling out Ianto's name, seeking for this one spark of life in the abyss. And suddenly... there it was. He didn't know how he knew it was Ianto, he just did. He knew his soul, and would recognise it anywhere.

He concentrated on carefully coaxing it to his side, gently pulling it into his arms metaphorically speaking, leading them both back into the light.

Ianto's body suddenly convulsed under his touch, but he didn't open his eyes, not completely with them again, hovering between life and death. The same jolt went through Jack as they connected, and it felt like electricity, but at the same time like the pleasant shock of stepping into cool summer rain. With all his might, Jack tried to uphold the connection, but he tried more than that. Not really knowing how to go about it, he willed the infinite vortex energy coursing through his body into Ianto, willing it to keep him alive, to heal him, and if healing him meant that Ianto would feed from him for all eternity, then he would gladly share his life's energy with Ianto. It wouldn't be like with Gwen and Suzie. Ianto couldn't drain him completely, his energy stores were infinite. And even if not, Jack was fully prepared to lay down his life for Ianto.

“Oh my God!” cried Gwen, but he still didn't open his eyes, he had to push more of his energy into Ianto's body to absolutely be on the safe side.

“His wounds are healing,” breathed Tosh in astonishment, inadvertently telling Jack that he succeeded. 

“But he doesn't wake up.” Owen frowned at his instruments that clearly showed him signs of life. 

“Maybe he's brain-dead,” Tosh suggested with trepidation since there was no outward sign that Ianto was alive.

He wasn't. Jack could feel it, could feel his soul. But he was still trapped between life and darkness although his body was fully alive again. Determined, Jack opened his eyes for the first time, noticing from the corner of his eye that, indeed, Ianto's mortal wounds had healed as well as the incisions of the autopsy. He looked at his still, once more perfect, unblemished face, and then, he bend down to kiss him while still upholding the connection. He'd revived him with a kiss once; he could do it again.

The moment their lips connected, he felt it. A huge amount of energy swirled between them, enveloping them in a golden mist of vortex particles. His lips seemed to burn pleasantly where they connected with Ianto's, and then, the younger man drew in a deep, gasping breath.

Immediately, Jack broke the connection, flinging the glove as far away from him as possible, and in the next second, Ianto was in his arms.

Confused, Ianto instinctively clung tightly to Jack as soon as the familiar scent enveloping him had told him whose arms were around him.

“Jack,” he gasped. “What...”

“Shh,” Jack cooed. “It's all right. You're safe. I got you back...”

Still confused, but his head clearing more and more, Ianto met his colleagues' shocked yet happy gazes, their eyes tear-filled as they stared at him, and then the shell-shocked face of DI Swanson making spluttering noises in the background (whatever she was doing here). And he felt Jack tremble in his arms while his lover clung to him like a vice. Hot tears dripped from Jack's face onto  his (bare, why was it naked?!) shoulder so that he instinctively tightened his own hold on Jack. Something horrible must have happened considering their extreme reactions, especially Jack's. But... He felt fine, didn't he... He wasn't hurt or anything... Determined to get to the bottom of this, an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ianto gently pushed Jack away so he could look his lover in the eye. Jack complied only reluctantly, and he didn't move far from Ianto, only a few centimetres with his arms still wrapped tightly around Ianto.

“Jack,” Ianto said firmly, searching Jack's face, his heart breaking at the desperate yearning and vulnerability he saw in the blue eyes puffed up and red from crying, “what's going on?”

Jack swallowed heavily, shaking his head as he was unable to speak for a moment. “Y-you... you were dead,” he whispered brokenly after a few seconds.

Ianto blinked, then his eyes widened. He sucked in a shocked breath. “W-what... But...”

He looked at the others for confirmation, and was met only with shaky nods.

All strength suddenly leaving his body, he sagged back, reaching out with one hand to brace himself on the autopsy table he was sitting on. That and, oh, the fact that his legs were still encased in a black body bag added to the you-were-dead statement. Might explain why he was naked on top of it. 

Once more, he searched Jack's face, and, although he hadn't doubted Jack's words for one second of course, in his eyes, he found a final confirmation for everything he had been told. 

His heart breaking anew, he reached out to Jack. “Oh Jack,” he whispered, and received his lover in his arms as the older man hurried into his embrace again, clinging to Ianto once more as if his life depended on it. 

For a few minutes, Ianto held his lover, marvelling that Jack was so deeply upset about his demise. He'd never seen Jack as broken or vulnerable as in that moment. 

Eventually, Jack calmed down, and the others tentatively approached, waiting their turn to somehow touch Ianto to confirm for themselves that he really was alive again. Sensing that Jack still needed a little time, Ianto shooed them away. “Could someone bring me a blanket or whatever!? Ta.”

Gwen, glad to have something to do, hurried away to get something for Ianto to cover up with while Owen busied himself with his various medical scanners. That left Toshiko who took it upon herself to be there for Swanson if the Detective needed someone to talk to. She looked rather pale at the moment despite her composed face. 

 

A few minutes later, the team was gathered in the medical bay again, all of them more or less composed, and Ianto covered with a blanket additionally to Jack's coat which the older man had insisted on wrapping around his shoulders. The gesture was sweet, and still spoke of Jack's distraught state, the first thing Ianto noticed though were the blood stains and a small tear in the right sleeve. _Well, back to daily business then,_ he thought, and made a mental note to get needle and thread as soon as possible. He desperately needed something to do to calm his mind in all the chaos that was his life right now.

But for the time being, he was stuck here, Jack having a tight hold on his hand, and Owen was about to tell them about the various scans he apparently had made while Ianto had been occupied with consoling Jack. 

“Like with Suzie and Gwen back then, I ran your medical records through the Philemon Filter,” Owen explained, and pointedly looked Ianto up and down.

“And?” Jack demanded.

Owen punched a button with great drama, showing them all the video footage of Ianto's resurrection. “This,” he declared, indicating the screen. “The connection is still running.”

“Are you all right, Jack?” Gwen asked concerned.

“Yeah, I feel fine.”

“I felt fine at first, too,” Gwen argued.

“That was different. It took some time for Suzie's wounds to heal, but Ianto's healed immediately. It's not only about having a connection through the glove. My vortex energy must strengthen it.”

“What does this mean?” Gwen looked from one to the other in trepidation.

Owen pressed his lips together. “It means that Ianto will be feeding from Jack's life energy for as long as Jack is able to give him this energy, even without the glove I imagine.”

“Forever, you mean,” Ianto finally voiced what all of them were too scared to say out loud.

“Most likely, yes.” Owen nodded gravely.

Ianto nodded equally as gravely. “I understand.”

“Is...” Tosh swallowed, looking at Owen for confirmation. “Is he really alive again, or...”

“He is fully functioning again,” Owen confirmed. “As if he'd never been dead.” He threw a speculating look at the glove still lying on the floor of the autopsy bay. “I think the glove simply acted as a catalyst for... for transmitting Jack's immortality.”

Warily, Tosh bend down to pick the thing up. “What are we gonna do with it?” she asked while contemplating the item she held.

“We'll put it away,” Jack answered promptly. 

“Let's hope we never have to use it again,” Owen mumbled.

Jack pressed his lips together determinedly while still holding on to Ianto. “We won't.”

An uneasy silence settled over the bay while they all stared at the glove with trepidation. 

Until Ianto cleared his throat, that is.

“As fascinating as that all is, I'd really like to get dressed now. I've been sitting naked on the autopsy table long enough now.”

That made most of the team chuckle, Ianto's sarcastic words doing wonders to make them feel better, and Owen waved his hand in exasperation, dismissing Ianto (and everyone else as well). 

Briskly, Ianto hopped from the autopsy table, and since Jack wouldn't let go of his hand, he pulled the Captain out of the autopsy bay with him without any discussions.

 

Although he had remained close the whole time, Jack was now unsure of his welcome as he softly stepped up behind Ianto in the Hub's locker rooms where the younger man was putting on his spare suit, covering himself up in his armour once more so as if nothing life-changing had happened in their lives today.

“Are you... angry with me?” Jack asked timidly, the first words he had said in a while.

Ianto turned to look at him with a questioning frown while adjusting his tie. “Angry?”

“For making you like me.” Jack shrugged helplessly. “I didn't mean to. I just wanted to save you, no matter how, and no matter the cost.”

He wouldn't meet Ianto's eyes.

The younger man sighed, his shoulders sagging. “No, I'm not angry about that, Jack. Actually...” He winced. “Actually, I'm kind of glad.”

Jack frowned horrified. “Glad to be immortal?”

Ianto looked up at him, his eyes open and earnest. “Glad to get the chance to be with you. Maybe I'd have liked it better if we both were mortal, that we could live this one single life together, but now it's the other way around, and as long as life and death don't separate us, I'm glad.” Tentatively, he took Jack's hand, and gently entwined their fingers. He swallowed heavily before mustering up all of his courage, and looking Jack firmly in the eye. “I love you, Jack, and I want to be with you.”

A lump constricted Jack's throat, and he had to swallow heavily as well while blinking back his tears furiously. “I love you, too, Jones, Ianto Jones. Sorry for not saying it sooner.”

The smile Ianto threw him was brilliant and breath-taking. Jack wanted to bask in its warm radiance forever. And then he remembered that now, in all likelihood, he could.

Allowing the tears of relief to fall this time, he lovingly carded the fingers of his unoccupied hand through Ianto's hair.

“Then what is it?” he asked in a broken voice. “Why are you so... distant?”

Now it was Ianto who shrugged helplessly. “I think it's just a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Eagerly, Jack stepped up closer to him, pressing himself flush against the younger man. “But you don't have to be afraid. I'll guide you. I never had anybody who explained things to me, but you won't find yourself in that predicament, ever.”

“I know. Thank you.” Ianto leaned over, and gently kissed Jack.

“There's nothing to thank me for,” Jack whispered. “Curse me rather”, but he didn't say that out loud.

 

They came back up only to witness a rather heated discussion between Swanson and the team. Apparently she didn't like that Torchwood wanted to retcon the police. But, frankly, they didn't have another choice, not if Ianto wanted to interact with the police again in the future. Too many people knew about his death as that they simply could dismiss the whole tragedy as a mistake. 

For a few minutes, Jack listened to both sides' arguments, all the while holding tight to Ianto's hand. No matter what, his mind was made up; the police would be retconned, but he had decided to let Swanson (and maybe Andy Davidson) keep her memories. Gwen may be their link to the police, but it surely couldn't hurt having someone inside the police force who knew what they did, and in the future, could divert some of the objections and problems some cases would cause.

In all likeliness, they would have to retcon Ianto's family as well. He hadn't really cared or paid attention at the time, so he didn't know if Ianto's sister had been told... 

Great. That would be tricky work if her whole neighbourhood already knew, but a little Retcon in the water supply of that part of the city wouldn't hurt anyone. Maybe it would be enough to at least tell  _her_ that her brother's death had been a mistake. But if she was anything like Ianto, Jack doubted she would buy this crap. So, back to Retcon in the water...

But that was something that could wait until tomorrow. Today, there was only one thing Jack still wanted to do; be with Ianto without letting him out of his sight or his grasp for even one minute for the rest of the night. 

He squeezed Ianto's hand, causing the younger man to look at him. He returned that look, and smiled at him.

** End  **

 

**Author's Note:**

> What? Did you really think I would kill off Ianto?! Never ever. That's Russel T Davies' job, not mine.


End file.
